


Surprisingly, Not Pizza

by icantbelieveitsnotmeulin



Series: It's Not Delivery, It's My Boyfriend [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantbelieveitsnotmeulin/pseuds/icantbelieveitsnotmeulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say first dates are always awkward. The only awkwardness you feel is when you remember he's already seen what you look like mostly naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picking Up

**Author's Note:**

> (Sorry this is just a short chapter, I don't think I can wait until I'm finished to post this, so I'm breaking it up. This is only a couple hundred words off from being as long as the first one, though!)

You haven't been this nervous since your team's last grant proposal.

He should be here to pick you up any minute. You keep running over a checklist in your head, making sure you did everything you needed to. You've already reapplied deodorant twice. 'It's just a date,' you try telling yourself, but that doesn't help anything. Despite your initial popularity, you only went on two dates in college and they were both flops, absolute disasters that left you feeling disappointed and resigned to spend the rest of your college career devoted to science. This was uncharted territory, _he_ was uncharted territory, and it was thrilling and nerve-wracking all at once.

You get back to your checklist. Clothes, definitely on. You'd thought about greeting him at the door like you did last time, in nothing but your skivvies, but that would only hold you up (and jokes were never quite as funny the second time). Instead you went with a dressy casual ensemble, a white off-the-shoulder sweater with a stylized black cat on the bottom left, and a plain black pencil skirt. A simple gold bracelet flops around your right wrist, paired with a gold chain around your neck. You'd thought about wearing your leggings, but too much black would've just looked weird. In their place were grey thigh-high stockings, and black flats to finish it off. You had it on good authority that guys went nuts for thigh-high stockings. Okay, so your good authority was the internet. You like the way they make your legs look, so you're sticking with them.

You have a purse in your hands, your wallet and keys within, and an active knowledge of how to defend yourself in case your cute pizza boy turns out to be a psycho killer. Your makeup hasn't smudged, your hair is still in place, and the doorbell just rang.

THE DOORBELL JUST RANG.

It's a mad dash to the door as you try not to trip over your cat or your own feet. You run your hands over your hair and clothes to put anything amiss back in place, and open the door as calmly as possible.

Your sweet young beau is waiting on the other side, with flowers in one hand and a nervous smile on his face. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his round nose before speaking. “I hope I'm not too early,” he says, handing you the small, bright bouquet. “I guess I couldn't wait any longer once I was ready.” He laughs, the sounds tumbling out of his mouth in a way that sounds natural despite his uncomfortable, nervous body language. You notice he closes his eyes when he laughs.

“Nah, I'm all ready too.” You smile as you reassure him, mentally wondering if you even have a vase and where it is. “...Hold on a sec.” You move from the door, only seeing him catch it out of the corner of your eye as you move back towards your coffee table. There's a vase with a couple fake flowers on it that you can use. He stands there, holding the door and watching you, as you put some water in it and stick the bouquet in. “There!” You place it back down, looking over your accomplishment with a sense of triumph. From the doorway, he tries to applaud, his shoulder now serving as a doorstop.

“So, all ready now?” He asks, straightening as you come back to the door. You chuckle softly and tell him yes, and you catch his gaze flicking from your face down along your body briefly. You choose to not say anything, just letting the corners of your lips curl up faintly into a smirk. Red creeps into his cheeks, and he rubs the back of his head while a sheepish grin spreads across his face. “Wow, do I feel under-dressed now!”

You snort. “What're you talkin' about?” He isn't exactly dressed in his finest, you can tell that much, but he could do much worse. He had picked a button-down white shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Maybe you were out of the loop, but it didn't seem like the kind of attire that was supposed to ruin a date. “Ya look fine!” He blushes again (it's rather cute), and looks down at his shirt.

“I guess that's my dad's fault. I didn't want to wear this, but he wouldn't let me leave the house without a 'proper shirt'. Joke's on him, though, because I kept my shirt on under it!” His fingers run over the buttons, undoing them with a nimble finesse, revealing what was causing the shadowy discoloration you didn't want to ask about beneath. It was...a Ghostbusters t-shirt. He grins and chuckles again. “Hehehe! What a classic!”

He has turned the dork dial up to eleven and all you can think is that he's so damn cute when he laughs. “Alright, ghost boy, ready ta get outta here?” You ask. His smile is absolutely infectious. You could swear there's a playful sparkle in his eyes when he looks back at you and nods. “Yeah! Let's go!” He leads you off to his car, and you barely remember to make sure the door is locked behind you.


	2. Well He Didn't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner comes first, and with it, a girl that is probably a HR rep's wet dream. 
> 
> (Sorry this one took me so long to get done. Writer's block is a terrible thing!)

“So, where're we goin'?” You turn your head towards him, and he glances over at you in surprise. You briefly wonder if he even knows.

“Um...” He bites his lip, turning away from you as he backs out to leave your parking lot. 

“Not havin' a plan for a date ya ask a girl on ain't in good form!” You tease him, and he frowns slightly. You can practically see him falling over himself to explain, even as he drives.

“I have a plan!” He squeaks, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He clears his throat, you stifling your laughter, and repeats himself. “I have a plan. We're going to go to dinner first, if that's okay.”

“Sure.” You had a light lunch, and you can feel the slight rumbles inside your abdomen, but you try to stay nonchalant about the whole thing. He'd said way back when that it wouldn't be pizza, and you couldn't help but wonder where he might take you instead. Sushi? Some swanky little Italian place? A hidden Thai restaurant with food to die for? One of your two dates had taken you to a mall food court, so anything would really be an improvement.

He pulls up in front of a small burger place nestled in a large supermarket-centered shopping center, and you're thinking you should probably revise that thought.

The uncertainty doesn't bleed through to your face, though he does seem to be a bit nervous about the whole thing as he closes and locks up the sedan. “I come in here when I need to eat before work. They have some of the BEST burgers I have ever tasted.” His expression is intense, hard lines and a gaze that could bore through steel, and all over some ground beef patties on a bun. It cracks and softens with the big cheesy grin you've already guessed is his default expression, and he proudly adds, “They've even got vegetarian options! You know, in case you don't eat meat.” 

It's simple and thoughtful in a strangely touching way. It would be easy to interpret as laziness, but hey, you were taken to a food court once. In comparison, this is like Paris.

It's small on the inside, homey with a bit of a retro feel. The red cushioned booths and the tile patterns on the floor practically scream “doo-wop theme diner,” but it lacks the rest of the tacky trappings. In their place is the sizzle of ground beef on hot stove top, and the amiable chatter of the sparse people peppering the place. One of the women working notices the two of you standing there and glides over, all smiles and pep being aimed right at your date.

“Good to see you again, John!” She beams, a couple menus already in hand. “And this time you brought a friend!” She turns towards you, pivoting on the balls of her feet, and that disarming smile doesn't falter once. You briefly wonder if she's actually this friendly or if she was just genetically engineered for food service.

His shoulders shrink slightly, shifting forward as he bashfully rubs the back of his head. “Actually, she's kind of my date.”

She raises her eyebrows, and you take some solace in seeing the creepy Stepford expression change to genuine surprise. “Oh! Well then let's get you two seated!” She leads you to one of the booths by the front window and sets the menus down in front of you as you both scoot in. When you look up, she's already got a pad of paper in her hand and a pencil at the ready. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start off?”

John looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised. Apparently to him, “ladies first” applies to ordering at a restaurant you've never been to as well. You skim briefly over the back of the menu before giving up on trying to find the listed beverages and going to your fallback. “Do ya have Sprite?” She gives you a sharp nod, and you notice her ponytail bob behind her.

“The usual for you?” She asks him, and you look at her name tag for the first time. Stacy. You snort quietly. It fits.

“Yeah, coke for me. I might mix it up with the burger though!” They share a laugh, and you feel yourself crack a tight smile from the exchange. Stacy tells you she'll be right back with your drinks, and you both open your menus.

“What, don't have tha whole thing memorized yet?” You tease, and he giggles in response.

“I get the same thing every time, but I still look over the menu. It's like a....who was that guy with the dogs?” 

You don't even look up from your menu as the response reflexively snaps off your tongue. “Pavlov?”

“Yeah! That guy! It's like a Pavlov thing!”

You fiddle with the page of the menu while you read. “So yer response to comin' to a restaurant is ta read the menu, even if ya know what yer gonna get?” You glance up at him briefly, waiting for a confirmation.

“Yeah. It's like going to a movie and getting popcorn.” His excitement is spilling over again, clearly happy you've understood. “Even if you're not hungry, you still get popcorn. It doesn't feel right otherwise!” You nod; he has a point.

“Alright, Pavlov, so what're you gettin'?”

“Cheeseburger!” He responds matter-of-factly. “Simple and delicious.”  
“Borrrrring. Spice it up a li'l! I'm gonna try the pepper jack burger!” You can feel yourself grinning from ear to ear, leaning over the table towards him. Talking with him is natural. You don't feel as awkward as you probably should, teasing him like this on the first date. You're pretty sure this is what people mean when they talk about “chemistry,” and seeing it now you realize how absent it was from the few dates you've been on before.

“Hehe, maybe another time.” There's a spark in his eyes and it takes you a second to catch what he's subtly trying to suggest. 

“Maybe.” You give him a quick sly smirk before Stacy comes back and takes your orders. You stare at her and zone out the whole time, wondering if they literally condensed cartoon kittens and pixie sticks into human form.

The burgers get to you rather quickly, after some idle chatter about your respective jobs. The smell is enticing, and your stomach lets out a loud growl as you eye the hot brown patty. You can feel yourself rigid, waiting to tear into this thing like an absolute animal. But you're on a date. You must restrain yourself. Eat like a lady.

Your fingers wrap delicately around the bun, and you bring it slowly up to your lips. Your hungry eyes follow it up, and over the pale sesame seeds you can see your date plowing his face halfway into his burger.

You relax and tear in.

Once you both get a little in your stomach, he starts asking the less formal questions.

“So what's your favorite movie?”

You mull it over for a second. “Dunno! Lemme think 'bout it.” You pop a fry into your mouth. “You?”

He answers without hesitation. “Con Air.” You snort.

“Isn't that tha one with Nic Cage and the plane? THAT movie?” Your disbelief is plain.

He immediately switches to a defensive stance. “Look, I know, it's kinda cheesy sometimes, and it isn't the BEST movie ever, but I love it! I can't help it. I love Con Air.” He waits for your response, on the edge of his seat, as if he's expecting this to be a dealbreaker for you.

You take a deep breath. “I...'ve never seen it.” He raises his eyebrows and lowers his shoulders.

“Are you serious!?” You nod. “You HAVE to see it. You can come watch it at my place sometime!” His infectious excitement is impossible to deny.

“Only if you order somethin' different next time!” You fire back a challenge of your own, and he meets it with a fiercely determined grin. “Deal!”

The two of you enter a back and forth, firing questions of favorites and comparing responses. Your interests overlap in some areas (you're both mega nerdy into electronic music), but you find you're swapping shows and bands and comics and anime just as much as you're agreeing. It's fun and exciting and promising, and it builds upon the things you can do, things you can share, in the future.

By the time dinner is over you're pretty sure there's going to be a second date. Before that becomes certain, though, you have to finish this one first. You agree to split the check (you know no one makes beacoup bucks delivering pizzas), and it's you who leaves the tip under a glass. Stacy flashes you both her Barbie doll smile as you leave, calling out “Come again soon!”

You're climbing back into his car as you ask him the question of the evening. “So what's next?” He did say dinner was first, so you were pretty curious what date part two would consist of.

“Remember what I said about movies and popcorn?” He says, starting the engine. “Well, I hope you saved room for some!” You blink at him, waiting for him to start the car, and his posture slowly droops. Hurriedly, he tries to clarify. “Some...some popcorn, I mean. Because we're going to a movie.”

“I got it.”

“Okay. Just making sure.”

“Yer cute when yer flustered.” His face turns red, and he mumbles something in response as he turns to back out of the parking spot. You've never been so glad to go through with a stupid idea in your entire life.


End file.
